The ring weighed heavily on her finger and Molly absently twisted it as she watched the guests move about the floor to Connick's version of It Had to Be You. She had to admit the wedding turned out to be a beautiful event. Everything had been kept simple and elegant. No fussy or frothy gown for her. She wore a simple A line satin dress with the slightest touch of beading around the top of the strapless bodice. All of the flower arrangements were posies of pink and cream rosebuds tied with light green ribbon. Even the food was rather posh with waiters circulating all night plying guests with a seemingly endless supply of tasty, bite-size morsels.

Molly was surprised to find herself even attending such an affair, let alone being the focal point of it. It definitely was not her success. Mary and Georgie had planned it all. The choice of music was one of the few wedding details to which Molly had personally seen during the whirlwind of the past few weeks. Unlike most other women, she'd never been all that interested in planning a lavish wedding. Molly never understood how her sister Georgie and Georgie's friends could spend hours perusing bridal magazines and websites. Practicing feminine wiles had never been appealing to her after listening to Georgie and her crew scheme on how to snag their latest love interest. It all seemed pointless and silly. All that time and effort was better spent studying chemistry and biology.

Smiling wryly to herself, Molly acknowledged this was probably why she at her own wedding watching others dance to her favorite song while she sat alone at a table wondering where the hell her husband had gone. Not that she'd expected Sherlock to dote upon her. That would have been completely out of character for him. However, after checking his phone an hour ago, he'd disappeared from the reception. Her feet hurt from the new shoes and she was tired. If she wasn't going to be dancing, then she wanted to go home, shrug out of the uncomfortable ensemble, don her sweats and curl up with Toby.

Well, she wouldn't be going to home tonight. She'd be going to 221B. Eventually it might feel like home, but this afternoon Molly had been keenly aware of feeling like a visitor as she moved in her belongings into John's old room. Toby had immediately dashed under the bed and refused to come out. For a few seconds, Molly had considered joining him. Then Mary arrived and wedding day mania had taken over giving her no more time to doubt her choice.

Molly scanned the room again and still found no sign of Sherlock. Sighing, she downed the champagne left in her glass and furtively kicked off her shoes under the table. There was no sense in keeping them on any longer. It was not as if she'd need them any time soon. Another glass of champagne materialized over her shoulder.

"You seem to be out of champagne, Molly. That won't do so I brought you another. Sitting this one out?" Lestrade sat down next to her and took a sip from his own glass while holding out the other glass for her. A little bit of the contents sloshed over the side. "Whoops. Don't want to waste the good stuff, eh?"

Molly noted that he had evidently already had quite a bit to drink this evening, at least enough so he wasn't aware that, aside from one waltz with John, she'd not once been on the parquet floor. "Thank you, Greg. Champagne is exactly what I need. I'm afraid I not much good at dancing. Lucky that, isn't it?" Molly smiled but could not quite hide a momentary look of wistfulness.

"Molly, you make a smashing bride. Absolutely wonderful. Sherlock has no idea what a prize he's captured." Greg eyed her appreciatively and gave her a broad smile.

Biting her lip, Molly corrected him, "Greg, you know this is not a proper marriage. Sherlock told me you're aware of the circumstances. There's no need for the usual platitudes."

Lestrade cocked his head and studied her as if she was a suspect sitting across an interview table. Reaching a decision, he set down his glass, scooted his chair closer to her and took her hands in his. "Molly… Molly you don't have to do this, you know."

"I know. It is my choice. I am perfectly aware of what I'm doing. Believe me, John, Mary and my sister Georgie have all pointed out the folly of my decision. I don't want to have this conversation again. Rather too late for that at any rate."

"The heart wants what the heart wants, Molly?" Greg wryly questioned.

Molly was so surprised by his assumption that she laughed. "Greg, I'm not some ninny hopelessly pining after Sherlock. I know him. I'm not certain he's even capable of a love affair. Honestly, we've long since passed that point in our relationship. Our marriage will be one of friends and equals. Or at least as equal as Sherlock can treat anyone. "

A look of disbelief crossed his face. "Don't you want more than that? Most women…"

Molly cut him off. "Most women are not me. Greg, I have had years to realize that romantic relationships are not my forte. I mean look at my track record: a boyfriend who ended up being a criminal mastermind as well as crazy as a loon and then a fiancé who was engaged to two women at the same time." She removed a hand from his grasp and gently cupped his face, "It's not like I'm in great demand. But I do thank you for being a concerned friend, Greg. Thank you."

Meeting Molly's eyes, Greg flushed and began to stutter, "Molly…Mol… Christ, Molly, you sell yourself short. You deserve much better that Sherlock. He's brilliant but a right bastard. You deserve someone who will cherish and take care of you."

Molly stared into Lestrade's eyes, confounded by his insistence. She wondered if it wasn't the drink talking. He'd certainly never given any indication of an interest in her. Before she could reply, a familiar voice acerbically interjected, "Someone say like yourself, Inspector Lestrade?"

Molly quickly dropped her hand and stared guiltily at Sherlock. Never mind how unusual their marriage was to be, it felt wrong to be caught discussing Sherlock's failings with another man.

Lestrade unsteadily rose to his feet. A belligerent expression his face he demanded, "Yes, someone like me. Why not?"

Sherlock's eyes coolly began to assess the man challenging him. Recognizing that look of his, Molly nervously began to fiddle with her newly acquired ring.

Pointing at Lestrade's left shoulder Sherlock began his litany, "Why not indeed? Well, Greg, shall we start with the blonde hair on your shoulder. I imagine you picked that up while trying to chat up the bartender. You know- the one with the excessively large and artificially enhanced breasts."

"Sherlock, stop this," Molly softly protested.

Ignoring her, he continued, "Then there is your pattern of one night stands since your divorce. Which one would you like to discuss first? The junior secretary from…"

"Sherlock, stop it! He's your friend. Stop it!"

Sherlock opened his mouth to continue and then he noticed the angry expression on Molly's face. Obviously she thought he was crossing some unfathomable line. Though why she was blaming him when Greg was the one chatting up another man's wife was beyond Sherlock's understanding; yet another one of those social niceties that she and John excelled at and he had no time for. "Lestrade, go home and sleep it off. I promise not to beat Molly or cause her undue emotional distress. Mycroft has managed to instill some manners into me. As the older brother he's given me "the talk" and it's all sorted."

Lestrade stared owlishly at Sherlock as if trying to read his mind. After a few moments, he nodded slightly, "Right then. I'd best be headed home. Take care of her, Sherlock."

As the two of them watched Greg slowly and waveringly make his way to the exit, Sherlock leaned down and whispered to Molly, "Lestrade must be drunk indeed if he thought Mycroft capable of teaching anyone about marriage and romance. Collect your shoes, Molly, and we'll make our goodbyes. We've about twenty minutes before I need to turn the samples under the heat lamp. Time is of the essence."

Impatient now he watched as Molly jammed the shoes back onto her swollen feet. The ever observant Sherlock never noticed the look of longing Molly sent towards the dance floor as a final flourish of horns signaled the end of her favorite song.